BLOG 57 OF TWENTY EIGHTEEN

BLOG 57 OF TWENTY EIGHTEEN

SUB-TITLE:

''GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS''

CONTINUING CHAPTERS IN MORIANITY'S RELIGION FOR MILLENNIUM 3

I admit that I cannot make heads nor tails of many mother fucking things; ladies and gentlemen. For one thing, the incredible wild nightmares for the past week or so. Patty was in one of them and it was so major that I absolutely cannot mother fucking talk about it on any blog, OR THEY'LL MURDER ME FOR FUCKING SURE, YO! I would be crossing over major countless RED LINES before I would even begin to get into any of the serious goddamn bullshit. I can only say a thinly disguised tiny grouping of tiny whittle wee-bit smatterings, and I will. But later on, as much ground needs to be covered, and I want to get up in time to drive over to talk to Sheriff Mascara, as well as have a major phone talk with COMCAST on this SENIOR ABUSE on my phone-service with them.

It is currently just after two in the goddamn mother fucking moUUUUUUUUUUUUrning, on this 29^th morning of SATANIC-DEMONIC OCTOBER, in this hideous, monstrous, horrendous, and horrific year of 2018; which makes totally no sense to me whatsoever, as 2018 and 1802 are a scrambling of the same four digits; and apartment number 1802 was an extremely magical and great number for me, well; maybe it really wasn't, and I just fell under a huge fucking ass illusion all this time, who can cunt chewing ever know a damn thing, Ziggy M.?????????????????

Before I tell the events of the weekend, after posting up my early Sunday morning last blog, YO; it is currently 54 degrees here in town, and we are having our first of the season cool-snap. It may reach as low as the high thirties, somewhere between my town and out at the lake, (Okeechobee). I do not know how far that is from my apartment, but somewhere between 40 and 60 miles would be my best guess, to the west-south-west of Fort Pierce. It only got up to the high seventies yesterday, which is keeping the apartment a tiny bit nicer. WEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! So moving on here, Saturday was pretty much church-mouse quiet, and then came Sunday. All day long, Sheriff; my damn triad-illegals were around, and slamming their mother fucking doors like crazy fucking people. Then at approximately ten minutes past eight last night, I was struck major hard AGAIN, with another DEATH BOWELS ASSAULT on my poor old frail pathetic puny weak defenseless body; sending me to the toilet lightning fucking fast, BUTTTTTTTT, I didn't make it, and they knew I wouldn't. I had to clean up three mother fucking nasty areas on my rugs, before reaching the toilet! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! These cunt chewers defiled my apartment, AGAIN, SHERIFF KENNETH J. MASCARA, SIR, in total violation of my human rights, my civil rights, and my mother fucking constitutional rights, YO YO YO YO!!!

YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I cannot get two straight days and nights for the past six weeks, or damn near it seems, WITHOUT MAJOR WOMO-MILI-2-FAWCE ASSAULT AND DEATH SIEGE ATTACK. This is the cunt chewing fucking second half of the nineteen-eighties ALL OVER MOTHER FUCKING AGAIN, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!

Funny too, that my interaction with Patricia Hollister took place in Philadelphia, where she worked for a number of years a very long while back, only she never, at least to my mother fucking knowledge, lived there. Now several of her friends did. One of them was Steve, who I have discussed throughout numerous years of previous blogging texts. In this powerful nightmare-interaction slash hyperspace-adventure, or slash “whatever” kind Congressman who wasn't one yet back in good old 1975; we were in that horrible house of nakedness with all of the weird people. I had walked out into a back yard, and nearby our fence, and she came out and we got talking about harassment. Now back in the seventies, I never thought about that word, as I was told by the church, and those born again mother fucking folks; that I was under what they labeled, “Satanic oppression”, not persecution or harassment. I can only go with the flow of the times and the days, peeps, YO! I was later asked to leave a church, when I levitated myself a foot above the floor one day, in front of the pastor and a group of lovely teenaged girls, up there in Gloucester, New Jersey, right next door to the wonderful Camden, and RPL Sound Labs, and McAndrews and Forbes Licorice, and Ferry Avenue's great Institute for Medical Research, and so much more! WOW all of THAT! Today, tickets are sold, and people like Copperfield other great magicians are paid large sums of money. Go mother fucking figure anything, folks!!!!!!!!!!

Let me give you some insight about parallel-event and certain particular parallel events such as my connections every single time, with my being major death siege fucking persecuted, and my receiving extremely abnormal amounts of goddamn pussy-command. About five or six weeks while shopping for my usual grocery items at my local grocery story, the PUBLIX, where shopping is always such a wonderful pleasure; especially when not being persecuted to death, WHAAAAAAAA; I fell under a gargantuan amount of absurd and totally Mack Soapmouth Kaiter ridiculous pussy-command, that I thought that I was back in my younger days again. Nothing like that had happened to me in quite a while, nor has it since, THANK THE DAMN GODS!!!! BUTTTTTTTT, beginning that very day just a fucking cunt eating dew hours later on, after arriving back home, KAPOW, BOOM-BANG, ZAP, ZAM, ADAMWEST-BATMAN; all hell broke loose, and it has not mother fucking cunt huffing looked back, not in the tiniest whittle fucking bit; SHERIFF, SIR, YO!!!!!!!! This is a goddamn fucking PARALLEL EVENT that is annoying as all goddamn fucking get out; my kind sir, and all of my kind as well totally unkind freaking Blogaudians!!!!!!!!!!

Back now to Patty, in my house-of-horrors and nakedness, dreaming interactions. She was telling me that she is watching me closely, and so is Donald John Trump. I told her, and remember my exact words perfectly Richard Nixon clear, “Tell me something that I don't know, Patty”. Then she socked me right in my shoulder and I fell down onto the ground. She said to me, “You don't have to be a damn smart ass Mark, I'm just trying to help you and tell you some shit”. I just looked up at her, still sitting on the ground, and in some wet mud, with my bright red plaid shirt on, that was now quite filthy from being shared with mud, and recently fallen rain water. I remember telling her that “she hadn't lost a step”, since she helped Santa Claus and Steve, carry that super heavy couch, from my apartment on Oakland Avenue in Oaklyn, to the apartment that I was moving into in Lindenwold, called the Linden Hill, unit number 1118; with all bright flashlight holding, lunar maintenance men, notwithstanding, over at Cifaloglio. I remember in the dreaming-interaction, how much my right arm was totally killing me from her super heavyweight boxers punch. What was happening was that I had been sleeping on it in the wrong way, all night long, and this pain was transferred into the 'dream'. Still, all things always do and always will, fit perfectly together. I know this to be a 100% fucking fact. Aniwho, she went onto tell me that Cousin Donald told me way back in time, when I was employed by Building Maintenance Contractor, Mister Bernard Derakowski, who resided right next door by just a couple of houses, to my doctor in those olden days, Doctor Frank Addiego, on Park Avenue, in good old mother fucking Westmont, New Jersey; that people with incredible unnatural powers can edit reality itself just as regular humans do it with tapes and editing tools. By the way, I know for absolute certain, that many, or most of my classmates from school, at the HTHS (Haddon Township High School), know exactly who this doctor was; and even probably had him as his patients as well. Patricia Hollister then went on, in this powerful, outlandish, and esoteric 'DREAM', to remind me, and this is indeed the truth, how Cousin Donald had told me these things, way back at the very turn of the nineteen-eighties. Guess who just mother fucking got me with her cunt chewing PAGE ELEVEN OF ELEVEN, MIZZ DIRTBAG DISEASEWEEDS OF THE SLEAZEFLEAS! Allow me now to mother fucking compensate, YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!

5555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555 Jane Shit-Plants Scum-Eater, has been on a major mother fucking roll for making me see her ugly rotten face, digitally transposed!!!!!

But Cousin Donald, in this same area of the hyperspace; or where I am having these seemingly endless recurring nightmare dreams, where I am in that horrible fucking house, that exists in that particular area in fifth dimensional hyperspace, somewhere off of Interstate #95, near Grant Avenue, in Northeastern Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; has a property, that I also visit, and seem to be in; during many of these 'NIGHTMARES', and I think it is some type of a fucking looney bin. It is so goddamn fucking real, it comes right up and bites me in the asshole. But P.H. Was telling me and reminding me, that when Cuzz-Donald was telling me about reality-splicing, he also told me that soon he was planning to use this powerful idea and tool, to his advantage, through some inconceivably elaborate scheme and plot that he had, and wouldn't share with me of course. This was right after that goofy fucking movie that Olivia Newton John starred in, where after some car crash had occurred, someone kept rewinding a life-tape, and made reality-changes or EDITS. I had absolutely no idea just how incredibly diabolical and mischievous this plan truly was, not at the time, in the very early eighties, for fucking cunt crissake, YO, BRO! Patty went on with some incredible shit about how I am going to have to eventually fucking arrive at my own conclusions and that no one else is able to make things clear for me. Only I am able to see the clear picture in all of this, eventually; SHE TOLD ME! In this newly spliced reality, everyone seems to have just slipped through as if it is all so normal and natural. You know, no more fucking normal Presidential news conferences, non-stop rallies and party promotion bull fucking shit. On and on. It is all as unnatural as shitting backwards, you know, eating through our fucking assholes and then shitting out through our goddamn mouths, Again, I'll say it, YUK. Yet, is is a fucking lie, or is it the goddamn truth; my kind Blogaudians????????????? No other president ever ever ever, has endless fucking rallies since and after WINNING an election, endlessly supporting his party candidates, so as to strengthen his position of great power, that I promise all of you, HE HAS ABSOLUTELY NO PLANS TO EVER ABDICATE. I promised you long ago at the start of this fucking election shit, that he would win, and now I promise you, WE ALL WILL BE ADDRESSING HIM SOON AS KING TRUMP! This is what HOLLYWOOD was TOLD to pull that fucking '45' movie. Too fucking cunt bad too, as it was a really great fucking movie, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IPYT!!!!!!!!!

No more of the usual shit from the wonderful and NORMAL good old mother fucking days, huh? It's fucking just as if REALITY ITSELF is all being 'edited away'!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! All fucking totally gone, maybe a bit gradually, and sometimes it isn't really being done through gradualism at all. Still, no one says boo, or no one even knows how to sit up any more and say fucking boo. Patty made me remember all of this stuff about editing-reality, along with that really cool movie staring ONJ. HALLS FAWCES naturally, are trying to get rid of her through illness, knowing that any of this can be used in some small way through my MORIANITY, if she remains a living witness, and were to discuss her great movie, today! I do not believe that illness or earthquakes, or hurricanes, or anything, strikes human beings by pure random chance, and I never ever mother fucking will, just as gorgeous Mary's dad, on that fantastic television show, 'L&O' does either!!!!!!!!!!!! But who really empowers this wild and ultra-mysterious technological tool that permits this reality-editing-splicing bullshit? Well, maybe the ESS directly, or just perhaps, maybe the ESS has worker fucking BEES that are not in the ESS, but still, they get some sort of a wild payday and quid pro quo. Just saying. P.H. did not make all of that clear in that wild nightmare, or did she, and that was all that I was fucking able to bring back to the waking world with me? Who can ever really fucking know, Mister Copyrighted Breath-Echos???????????????? Just who can ever know all of this; great 1969 Mister Sigmund Malyeska? I do know that around a quarter past ten on Friday night, I saw another one of NASA'S crappy missiles flying outside my window, and shortly before that, some weird hacking on my Comcast Cable Television System occurred, YO. That much, I DO KNOW, and to quote my kid, “I KNOW THAT I KNOW”!!!!!! Yes sir/mahm!!!!! AHA-AHA-AHA-AND WHAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So yes Patty, thanx for the wild 'dreams' the other night. But “still”, to quote the great Detective Lenny L&O Brisco; REALITY-EDITING verses TOWEL-SEEPAGE-EFFECTS of fifth dimensional hyperspace; which is it, and when is it one or the other? I'll hear those marvelous wild breath echoes, endlessly and forever; huh United States Copyright Office? YES, WHO CAN EVER KNOW? I said it really well on that old fucking cassette tape, did I not, YO????????

END TRANSMISSION.